


No Hell On Earth (Quite Like This)

by Desdemona



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdemona/pseuds/Desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no way that bright, occasionally foolish light is no longer shining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hell On Earth (Quite Like This)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with the specific desire to write about a character I didn't like (Andrea) in a pairing I didn't ship (Andrea/Michonne in any of it's forms) and I wanted to see if I could write it without an bias. 
> 
> And so it should be said that as I wrote this, my feelings for Andrea didn't change as much as I feel like I understood her a little better. I had to understand her through Michonne. My friend Kelsey got to read some of this as I went and she's always been an Andrea supporter and she was really pleased with what I did so I hope that this works with other Andrea supporters because I believe that we all love characters for our own reasons.
> 
> You don't need a reason to love a highly unpopular or popular character. Anyway, I ended up liking whatever Michonne and Andrea were to each other. And I hurt for them. I hope that came through too. I hope my personal challenge was met. I always wanted this to be longer but I couldn't seem to move forward which meant I had reached the end.
> 
> Happy reading. As always, please excuse any errors. I've read this so many times that I think I've caught everything but I will surely read through it again.

 

 

 

“Don't go all Romeo on me,” Andrea says, her laugh weak and watery.

Michonne locks their fingers a little tighter. Andrea lets her head slip onto Michonne's shoulder and the new angle puts a harsh light on the shredded ruin of her neck.

“You're a lousy Juliet,” Michonne finally whispers, her voice choked even to her own ears. “She didn't try to save anyone.”

“But she did let herself fall for some asshole's smile.” Andrea heaves a wrecked breath. “And she died for it.”

Michonne leans to press her lips against Andrea's forehead. The skin feels thin and hot, the fever already working through her, heating her up. Killing her from the inside.

“Drank the poison, fell for the charm,” Andrea's voice strains with pain. “I tried though, Michonne. In the end. I tried. I didn't want anyone else to die.”

“Yeah.” Michonne squeezes her eyes shut against a fresh swell of tears. “I know.”

Their silence is heavy with regret and the labored sound of Andrea's breathing as her body shuts down. Michonne curls her legs up and holds on, unsure of what she's trying to do but aiming somewhere for comfort. Andrea nudges into her. A hollow thumping starts somewhere nearby and Michonne looks over to see the gun trembling in Andrea's grip.

It won't be long before her fingers fail her. Before her body stops being hers. Before Andrea isn't there anymore.

She can't breathe at the thought, her throat clogging up with words she doesn't know how to say anymore. Things like _you're my family_ and _don't leave me_ and _I love you_. That last one she wanted to say the most, with all the connotations, with all the meanings. Or none of them and something else all together. Something that's ambiguous and bittersweet.

Like them.

“I survived the end of the world and all I got was this lousy walker bite,” Andrea suddenly says in her ear, startling Michonne into a soft, gasping laugh that sounds like a sob.

And then it is one as she realizes that Andrea's giving the cue. Michonne turns and helps her sit upright. Andrea hisses and the hand wrapped in Michonne's is dangerously hot, as if the sun is under Andrea's skin and trying to burst free. There's no more time. There's never time.

“I gotta do it now,” Andrea whispers unsteadily.

“I'm not letting go,” Michonne murmurs, struggling to keep her own voice from breaking. “I'll be right here.”

Andrea gives her a smile that's so grateful that Michonne's chest threatens to collapse under the weight of the agony. So many other people could have died. So many others should have died. Instead, she's losing her friend, the very first she's made in this new world.

She has more now. But you never forgot your first.

“Take care of them, okay?” Andrea's eyes start to glaze and the gun shakes as she lifts it to her mouth. Michonne reaches to steady her grasp, letting go only when Andrea rests the barrel against her teeth, and nods once to show that she heard her.

“Michonne, you promise me, dammit.”

She meets Andrea's gaze, startled to see some clarity again. “I promise.”

Andrea nods and lifts their joined hands to her chest. Her eyes slowly slide shut even as she smiles around the barrel. “Thank you.”

The shot is brutally loud at such a close range. The explosion rattles Michonne's teeth, her ribs. Her ears fill with a shrieking, hollow ring. Andrea's hand goes limp in hers, fingers jerking briefly before going still. The hand with the gun slides loosely to the floor and Michonne tugs the gun free, setting the safety back on. She stares at Andrea's face afterward, relaxed in death the way it had never been life. It's difficult to ignore the blood splatter behind her head but Michonne's seen so much blood and brain over the last year that she pulls on that fortitude and doesn't torture herself by looking.

She reaches with her free hand to touch her friend's still warm cheek. “You're welcome,” Michonne whispers brokenly, hunching over as the pain comes rushing through her, a freight train of agony.

It's a long, long time before she moves again.

* * *

When she steps out, the three men waiting turn as one. Michonne wants to retreat into silence, wants to not say a single word ever again lest she do something like start to sob as the loss of her friend claws at her ribs.

Instead, she lifts her chin. “We're burying her at the prison. She doesn't belong here.”

She's halfway into a battle stance when she realizes that Rick is nodding in agreement.

“She doesn't,” he says and at some unseen signal, Daryl slides to his feet and goes inside with Tyreese in tow. A few minutes later, they come out with Andrea balanced carefully between them, her jacket wrapped around the bloodied back of her head.

The air in Michonne's lungs threatens to leave and never come back. She turns on her heel and leads the way back to the outside world.

* * *

They bury her near Axel. Michonne crafts the cross herself, slicing the branches of nearby trees down and ripping strips of her shirt to tie them together. At first, it's just her standing by the pile of dirt. She keeps the katana drawn and pointed down at her side, the feel of it in her hand the only thing familiar and stable. Slowly, the others ease out. They form a loose ring around the grave. All save for Tyreese and Sasha, both whom stay back to watch over the newest residents of the prison.

Which fits. They didn't know Andrea. Not like the rest did. Not like she did.

Herschel says a quiet prayer, his words carried away on a breeze that leaves chills down her back. It's over almost as soon as it begun and for a long, long moment, Michonne doesn't process it. The grave doesn't seem real, the dirt inconsequential, the cross a lie. There's no way that Andrea is really in that grave. There's no way that bright, occasionally foolish light is no longer shining.

There's no way she's really gone.

She lets herself wallow in that disbelief, even lets herself wait to hear Andrea call her name from the knot of trees. Michonne half turns, almost expecting to see her friend pop out, hale and whole, wearing a walker's blood on her hands, smiling with that not-quite-secret thrill she got from taking them out.

That was someone else's influence. Michonne killed for survival. Andrea had sometimes killed because she could. Every now and then, Michonne had wanted to know who'd put that bloodlust in her or if it's something that had come to light in the midst of everything else.

No way to find out now.

She wipes a hand over her mouth and turns away to find that everyone's begun to leave. Rocks, in lieu of flowers, have been placed on the dirt. Carol lingers, gaze gentle on her, and Michonne can't meet her eyes, unable to take someone else's sorrow when hers is so fresh that the metallic taste of blood is on her tongue.

Michonne turns again, goes full circle and almost collides with Daryl, who's still there. Likely waiting for Carol to move along and Herschel who waits as well. But it's Daryl who's clearly the shepherd. None of them stay out alone anymore. Too easy to be picked off, too easy to be cut off. Herschel and Carol finally move away, him easily keeping up with her even on his crutches.

“You ready?”

Michonne keeps the flinch on the inside and meets Daryl's gaze. “No.”

“Alright then.” He moves off to settle against a tree, crossbow loaded and resting on his shoulder. She stares at him, at a loss for a full minute until she realizes that she's part of the flock now.

He'll wait for her until she's ready to go.

Tension she hadn't felt creep in releases it's grip from her bones and Michonne slides to the ground, the katana falling with her. Dust kicks up in clouds around her, swirling in the stark sunlight. She moves slowly to pick up the rock nearest to her. It's silk smooth and warm in her palm. She rolls it between her fingers as she drags her legs up and wraps her arms around her knees.

She breaks so much more gently than she expects to. The sobs aren't loud enough to slip into the air, choosing instead to spill out of the corners of her mouth in tiny, wretched noises that make her throat ache. The build up had felt so much bigger but Michonne can't make more than those small, agonized sounds. Michonne drops her head into her hands, her forehead bumping against the rock. It's a small hot spot against her skull and she presses harder against it, the heat welcome even as the world swelters around her, drowning her in sharp, yellow hotness.

It bakes her until the tears are faded tracks on her cheeks, until it feels like her bones are swollen with heat and pressure. She takes a deep breath of hot, heady air before coming to her feet. Without looking, she says, “Ready,” and heads back to the prison.

She's not sure why her heart does a slow thump at the faint sound of him walking behind her but it does all the same. The alien sense of comfort slides through her, foreign under her skin like needles that haven't decided to hurt her yet.

Or maybe won't at all.

She tilts her head up to study the clouds while the shepherd walks behind her, his breathing steady, his steps alert. The sun stays warm on her shoulders, the heat seemingly less and less unbearable as they close in on the prison. Inside, the others won't be waiting but they'll watch her for a little while. Their concern will be a given, like a blanket she could wrap herself in when she was ready for it.

If she was ever.

_Take care of them, okay?_

_Well,_ she thinks with one last glance upward. _Close enough._


End file.
